Boom the Loon
by TateThePowerpuffFan
Summary: After a little visit to the Townsville music shop, it is discovered that Boomer has a natural talent for playing the drums. Wanting prized instruments of their own, Brick and Butch try to find a way to make money off of their brother's skills.
1. Oh Goodie, Goodies

**Disclaimer by Butch:**** Whoever created this junk doesn't own the PPGs, that's for sure.**

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**Chapter 1:**** Oh Goodie, Goodies**

**Brick's POV**

The sun was burning a million miles away, and that was just okay, for it made our day. I landed in front of Rawk Onn, the Townsville music shop, with my brothers, who decided to tag along for the first time with me. I made a weekly trip to the store so I could keep up with the latest instruments and record selections, not to mention that I received discounts, since I'm close, personal friends with the current manager. We strolled in through the front door, and there he was, waiting for me (us, I guess).

"Hey there, Brick. Wassup?" Mitch greeted me. I walked up to the counter that he was manning and fist-pounded him.

"It's all good. My brothers decided to come along, this time. The desire to browse was just too powerful."

"Well, I don't find that too hard to believe. We got a 25% discount on all things percussion, this weekend only! But since you're my pal, I can drop an extra 5%."

"Now **_that's_** what I'm talking about! Thanks, Mitch." We bumped once more.

"No prob, whatsoever," he whispered and winked.

My brothers walked up beside me, eyeballing the goods displayed all along the walls. "Good news, guys. The place is having a sale on drum stuff and whatnot."

"We know that, Brick. There's a sign plastered on the glass, outside," Butch snarked.

"Well, **_sorry_** for reminding you guys," I held my hands in the air and rhetorted, sarcastically. "Hey, where'd Boomer run off to?" My blue jackass had wandered off, as he usually does when we travel as a group. I decided not to think much of it, knowing that we'll just regroup later.

"Dude, check out that Jag-Stang over there," Butch nudged my arm and pointed at an electric six-string encased in a glass box. My feet lifted up off the ground, and I levitated over to it, anime eyes sparkling in the spotlight. I pressed my face to the case. The body shimmered in a sparkly infra-red job with three pickups, a whammy bar, and a solid-white pick guard. I began to foam and shiver. It was truly an awesome spectacle. "It looks just like Cobain's guitar," Butch mentioned over my shoulder, equally mesmerized.

"All the blood in my head has emptied into my pants," I spoke during my out-of-body experience.

"Oh look, it's only $5,000." Butch pointed down at the tag hanging off of the side of the display. I didn't even notice it there.

"How much we got?" I wondered as I pulled out my wallet. I opened it up to find seven hundreds, two twenties, three tens, and six ones, as well as half a roll quarters in my other pocket for the arcade. "Hey Butch, how much you got?"

"Umm," he held his tongue as he fumbled through his seat pocket. He pulled a lop-sided skipping stone out. "I got this rock." Dammit.

Out of nowhere, we heard a steady, heavy rumble begin to roll out from across the store, accompanied heavily by cymbal crashing and icky thumping. It sounded like an avalanche of medicine balls, and man, did it sound good. After about fifteen seconds, the drumming ceased.

"What the hell was that?" Butch panicked.

"Maybe it was a rhythmic earthquake!" I replied in astonishment.

"That's impressive drumming, right there," we both heard Mitch say aloud from across the store, as though he were addressing someone. Curious, we both wandered over to where he stood, and as if we couldn't already be astounded, enough...

"Hey, guys!" Boomer waved from the large drum kit. Butch and I both rubbed our eyes to make sure that we weren't hallucinating.

"Boomer! Was all that noise coming from **_you_**?" Butch asked him, stirred up.

"I guess so. I just felt like playing some beats that I had in my head."

"But how... when did you ever learn to play drums?"

"I didn't. I just played what I imagined."

"But just... **_how_**? It sounded like a Bonzo-Moon collaboration!" I stepped in. Boomer merely shrugged his shoulders.

"I know that people would put down some **_real_** money to go watch someone with your kind of talent perform, Boomer," Mitch told our blue brethren. With that, an idea jumped into my head. I pulled Butch aside and leaned in to whisper into his ear.

"Dude, I just got an excellent idea. Let's buy Boomer that drum set-"

"Wait, what for? Why are we putting hundreds of dollars down for our dimwit brother rather than saving up for that cherry-poppin' guitar?"

"Think about it for more than two seconds! Let's buy him that drum set so that he can perform in front of crowds. Mitch is right. With talent like his, people would be payin' outta' their noses to go see him. We could just gank the money from what he earns. That guitar will be ours in no time!"

"You wanna take advantage of our dumb brother's talent to make quick cash? That sounds like pure evil... I love it." His trademark sinister smile erupted. We both turned back to Boomer and Mitch.

"Excuse me, Mitch," I started, "How much is that kit selling for?"


	2. Brain Bashed

**Chapter 2: Brain Bashed**

**Boomer's POV**

For some reason, I just understood drums. The flow of anything that conjured in my mind was released through my kit. I had never even thought just how good I might be until I sat behind the set.

"Do you even know any drummers, Boomer?" Butch asked me.

"I know John Bonham and Keith Moon, and Neil Peart, but those are the only guys that I can name. Why do you ask?"

"Those are the greatest drummers to have ever lived, Boomer. You're not even trying, and you sound just like them!"

"Well, I know it sounds pretty good, but I don't know if it was that good. I mean c'mon, I've been sitting here for five minutes, and you're implying that I can top Moon the Loon? Ain't nobody **_ever_** gonna top that awesome, lovable, crazy bastard!"

"Well, you're certainly up there, alongside him."

"It still feels so empty. I feel like I would need a band to back me up. I can't conquer this whole thing solo."

"Uh, yeah," Butch sputtered, "we're workin' on that, Boomer. Don't you worry!" He winked at Brick.

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"Was that a wink?"

"I don't know. I close my eyes a lot throughout the day."

"Whatever. Mitch, I'm taking these."

"A wise investment." Mitch rubbed his hands together.


End file.
